


Contemptus Mundi

by DeltaJones



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaJones/pseuds/DeltaJones
Summary: Having felt the fire of the Great War wash over him for a second time, the Sole Survivor comes to terms with a new life in the Commonwealth... or that would be the case if we hadn't stripped away the rails, redrafted the origin story and turned back the clock. This isn't the game you know; or maybe we should say it's the story you fell in love with with a little twist thrown in for good measure. Maybe the quincentennial will be good to the veteran and the lawyer this time.“Nora?"“Nate?”“It is clear to me that I have many things to explain--”“You’re god damned right!”“Please. Please. Allow me to tell our story, father, mother. I know you must be shocked. The first details, you already know. We three were frozen in Vault 111 on October 23 2077 only moments after the first atomic bomb touched down in South Boston. From there, the details become erratic and I must ask you to bear with me while I tell them."





	Contemptus Mundi

An opaque hiss brought him out of torpor long enough to realize his eyes were closed and wouldn't open. No... they were open, but he couldn't see. Why couldn't he see?

He reached up, finding a dome above his body as he passed over the smooth structure with a hand. It was like one of those dream machines back in Goodneighbor, except he remembered it had some huge television screen mounted to the inside, whereas this had no such obstruction. Somehow, it felt smooth even though he recalled the machines being made of several interconnected glass panes and rivets.

He tried his voice, finding it to be almost as useless as his eyes. He breathed out a vague, loud rasp meant to ask, "Where?"

Above him, two people in white coats and a man in a more ornate coat of the same make whispered between themselves.

The last thing he remembered... was being with his son, except his son was twice as old as he assumed himself to be. That doesn’t make sense. No, his son is a baby, but not a baby. He felt about thirty, but that was in 2077 after a long time on the Anchorage line. This was 2287, so far as everyone around had told him. His son was sixty, an old man, but still a baby by his timeline.

You see, or perhaps you don't, the man, his wife and his now much older son were all cryonically frozen in one of Vault-Tec's nuclear fallout shelters, Vault 111. His son was taken from them in 2227, whereas he was only released sixty years later, assuming his boy had been kidnapped and was still a child. It’s a story out of one of those old radio serials he and his wife used to listen to each week when they’d been newlyweds, young and looking forward into tomorrow.

But where was he now? Where was the detective who helped him find his son? Where was the reporter who helped him acclimate to the Commonwealth? Where were his allies in the Minutemen and the Brotherhood of Steel? Where were the scattered remnants of the Railroad?

An older, scratchy voice said, "The subject is cognizant, Director."

"That is to be expected. He was much more resilient in the program than were others. We have much to learn about how willpower can affect the human experience. How much longer until the other subject awakens?"

A third voice, a younger man, said, "It's hard to say. Could be now, could be a few hours. Won't be long, sir. She’s tough, if the records have any say in the matter."

"That is all right." The voice - it was familiar - turned to me. "Do you know who I am and where you are?"

The man suddenly came into his mind. He knew that voice. "I'm OK," he answered. "This is the Institute, Shaun. Where else would I be?"

The voice, Shaun's voice, pattered in relief. "Thank you, doctors. The experimental treatment was successful. Father, I can't say how wonderful it has been to have you back. You certainly have many questions-"

"Shaun, you sound different. I can't see you..."

"It's a temporary blindness caused by long-term exposure to the form of radiation that makes this machine work. Father, what is the last thing you remember? Please be as specific as possible. It is important."

He thought about that. "We got piss drunk is what I remember. I had just deposed Elder Maxson and we brokered a peace agreement between the Brotherhood and the Institute and we threw a party to celebrate. Most of my Brothers weren’t pleased, but knew it was the right choice for the long term. You were against using the biology lab's equipment to produce alcohol, but a handful of the guys down there and I convinced you to spare enough to build a still. It gets hazy from there."

"Father," Shaun said, "this is going to take longer to explain than I'd anticipated, as the program you were under was taken to extremes I never thought possible. It is… best to speak to you in full after you have recovered. Please, take all the time you need and let us meet, perhaps tomorrow or the day after, with the directorate to discuss the events of the past. Is that all right?"

"Of course, Shaun," he said instantly. "Can you have someone guide me? I don't think I could make it like this easily."

"Of course. Doctor Zimmer, please have a humanoid unit escort my father to his quarters."

"Yes, Director," Zimmer responded. He pressed a finger into his ear. "P2-19, report to Advanced Systems lab beta-zero-three for assignment. The synth will be here momentarily."

"Thank you, doctor. Father, please rest. I shall see you again tomorrow."

"Ok, Shaun."

Shaun left. His footfalls sounded lighter, somehow.

The younger scientist said, “Mr. Anderson, we can--”

“Nate, is fine,” Nate answered from his awkward seat in the machine.

“Ah. Erm… Nate. It would be best if you sleep off the effects of the experiment in your room. I’d recommend at least eight uninterrupted hours aided by a low-level hypnotic, if you’ll permit its use in your quarters.”

Nate climbed to his feet, only stumbling slightly by his lack of sight. “What does the hypnotic do?”

“Oh, it just helps you stay sleeping. It can’t force you to sleep,” the scientist added hastily, “but it can keep you asleep until you are properly rested and ready for a new day. We use them as a general medical treatment for insomnia, stress-related ailments and even for those days when you just can’t seem to shut down for the night. I know I’ve had more than a few sleepless nights thinking about the next big project.”

“I hear you loud and clear. I don’t see why not,” Nate said agreeably. “Normally I’d have to say something about the abuse of technology, but as long as it’s not nuclear or whatever, I can’t see the harm. It’s… not nuclear, is it?”

“No, erm… well, it doesn’t use ionizing radiation to accomplish its goal if that’s what you mean. It’s actually pretty low-tech by comparison to everything else here. Just ultrasonics.”

Nate brightened excitedly. “I never would have thought to use sound to help people this way. Don’t sell the technology short; I find it pretty damn impressive.”

Having been so close to so many projects for the Institute in his time, Nate has found a knack for finding wonder in even the simplest results. There’s nothing quite like seeing you’ve made a person’s day just for praising their work a little.

Doctor Zimmer, the other scientist, cleared his throat loudly. “If we are done chit-chatting, P2-19 is here to escort you. Doctor Wells, Nathaniel, good day.”

Zimmer left ahead of the others.

Nate said, “Rude, ain’t he?”

The synth didn’t respond. Doctor Wells said, “I can’t really say. He’s SRB, I’m Advanced Systems. We don’t cross wires often enough for me to judge. Not that I’d want to judge. He’s in charge over there, I’m just a code monkey over in the lab. Doctor Beams runs me ragged when the computers don’t all sing Yankee Doodle on key.”

“Sounds like tough work. I just hope you can sleep better.” Nate shrugged. “Doc, see you later. Take care.”

“You as well, Mr. Anderson-- Nate,” Wells said before leaving as well.

“Sir, how may I serve you,” the synth asked.

“You’re P2-19, right?”

“That is my designation, sir.”

“That’s… do you another name? Other designations?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” Nate said. “For now, can you take me up to my room? Doc says I should sleep this off.”

“Yes, sir. Please place your hand here,” the synth put Nate’s hand up on its left shoulder, “and follow me.”

The Institute was oddly silent. It wasn’t the absence of space or the busy grinding of technology behind the walls, but rather a disconcerting lack of human bodies. The halls even missed the common clank of generation one and two synths running to and fro.

“P2,” Nate said, “Where is everyone?”

The synth paused in front of Nate’s door. “I must assume, sir, that they are in quarters or otherwise involved elsewhere.”

“Quarters?” Nate laughed. “I didn’t even ask. What time is it?”

The door dilated open and the pair entered. “With respect to the revolution of the Earth, it is oh-two-thirteen, sir.”

“That makes sense. But then… I thought the older synths were busy ‘round the clock down here.”

“I do not have any further information, sir. I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for, P2. Everyone’s sleeping and I’m being difficult. Do you know how to start up the doc’s sonic wave thing?”

P2-19 said, “Yes, sir. Shall I set the device before leaving for the evening?”

“Please. Doc said it’ll help me sleep. I feel like I’ve been awake for days.” Nate yawned. “Thanks for everything, P2.”

The synth turned the manual dial in the wall-mounted device to run for eight hours at moderate setting. “One is glad to be of service, sir.”

P2-19’s departure left Nate in darkness, not that he could see to tell the difference. He bemoaned the lack of sound not because it was an annoyance, but because the sense that others are near is comforting. After so many months under constant gunfire, nuclear rain, and battles within the factions he’s sought to bring to peace, knowing that no one is around grinds on the nerves.

He knows that inside the Institute, there are no raider assaults coming in the middle of the night and no freak storms threatening to irradiate him to high heaven. But after so long with a gun under his pillow and either his Commonwealth Minutemen or his Brothers and Sisters around him keeping watch through the night, sleep doesn’t come easily in the noiseless abyss.

But that’s what the humming above him is for; to help him drift gently into sleep.

* * *

The morning brought a much-needed feeling of restfulness to Nate. He hasn’t felt this good in weeks. Maybe it’s because of the fluffy, cotton-filled pillow he’d set his head on; maybe it’s because he’ll get to find out what’s been going on lately and why he was under medical treatment. What was he in for anyway? He chuckled at the thought that it was for excessive alcohol consumption at the party. He was always something of a lightweight, but not to the point he’d get alcohol poisoning.

The comforts of the morning came directly to him through his in-room serve cupboards. Coffee, cream and sugar came through one cabinet door; eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice came through another. His terminal was loaded with several news stories about the goings-on of the Institute: current unclassified projects, statistics on the various ongoing games and sports of the enclave, and even a little gossip.

How a small, closely-knit community like the Institute could support not only enough noteworthy news each day, but a whole newspaper (or news terminal entries), was beyond Nate’s ability to think before a third cup of coffee.

Halfway into an article on the latest exploits of the Academy’s student’s continuing competitions, a call came over the door’s intercom. Nate called back around a mouthful of food, “Come on in!”

The door opened, revealing a generation one synth. It said, in stunted tones, “Sir, I have been instructed to inform you of the Directorate meeting scheduled for twelve-hundred hours. Shall I return greetings to Director?”

Nate swallowed a bite of meat and washed it away with coffee before answering. “Yeah. Let the Director know I’ll be there.”

“Right away, sir,” the synth said before scampering away.

Nate demolished the remainder of his breakfast, finding noon to be only half an hour out. He’d like to at least be somewhat presentable for a meeting with the leaders in the Institute. Last time, he’d just sat down in his vault suit and leather patchwork armor. This time, he’d at least wear a dress uniform.

If six years of service taught him anything, it was to be ready to move in places of danger, and look sharp and professional when the situation called for such luxury. He found tan slacks and a matching button-down shirt in the well-stocked closet. Just a pair shoes that weren’t combat boots and a tie and he’d be the spitting image of a desk jockey. Exactly what he’d wanted for the meeting.

Nate knows his limitations. He’s not a scientist. He’s bright and driven, but he’s not going to design robots from idea to product nor make new life out of duct tape and bones. No, that was more his wife’s department. Not the creating life thing (though she did that wonderfully with their son), but being the more intelligent of the two. He was the soldier, she was the lawyer. They complemented one another perfectly.

Perfectly.

Outside his door, a pair of Coursers were waiting to escort him. For a moment, he wondered why Coursers, and why two, had been assigned to an escort from one side of the main hall to the other. Nate settled on it being for show; a show of protection following whatever ailment plagued him.

Shaun is somewhat overprotective.

“Sir, the meeting is starting soon.”

Nate said, “Thanks…”

One Courser said, “X1-43.”

The other said, “R4-14.”

Nate said, “X1 and R4. Lead the way, boys.”

The Coursers looked at each other with that almost imperceptible shrug that humans tend to translate as, “I can’t. I can’t even.” Nate chose to ignore it, not dwelling on the implication that these two highly trained hunter-killers just shared the synth equivalent of a water cooler moment that wouldn’t have been out of place back before the Great War.

Now that’s the joke, isn’t it? The Great War. It was hardly a war. As far as anyone in America was concerned, the world ended. War doesn’t cause the end of the world. War is a consequence of contests of economies, not a contest of arms - not really. War has no purpose if someone isn’t benefiting by getting the loser’s economic power in return for defeating them. That’s how war works, because war never changes.

Sure, there were wars fought for ideological reasons. Just look at World War Two. But even there, it was a battle for who had a better economy. Hitler didn’t lose because he was crazy or because the Allies were outraged by genocide; he lost because he ran out of oil and money.

Who gained when America fell? At a guess, and this is an optimistic guess, the great powers all collapsed; America, China, Europe and even Russia. But what about the south? Maybe Chile, South Africa and Australia are thriving, modern nations today because the nations of the northern hemisphere have stopped dead in their tracks.

But that’s a problem to solve another day.

“We’re here, sir,” X1 said.

“Thanks, X1.”

The door was closed. Strange. Nate thought the people in the Institute didn’t believe in closed doors except for matters of extreme privacy. His tends to be closed, but that’s more because Shaun respects his ways were canalized back in the stone age when propriety and privacy were matters of public opinion. Mrs. Grundy never sleeps, and her mouth and her scathing, judgemental eyes run hotter and longer than even the best nuclear power plant. Nate is closed-minded about some things, but he knows when to give in and when to insist. He usually doesn’t insist. Closed doors are rare besides those used to contain experiments, or when people were copulating more loudly than usual.

Without prompt, the door slid away. This was expected.

Nate entered the room and found some interesting problems he’d wanted to immediately address. For one, Shaun looked different. No facial hair, his features seemed to have changed as well; mature still, but not with the onset of age. His hair was black, not the swept-back white hair he had last time Nate had seen Shaun.

And the Directorate was filled with new faces. Just how long was he out? That’s Allie, but she too looks different. Longer hair, and less stressed features; as if she was a woman closer to his age than the more mature woman he’d met those months ago.

Doctor Zimmer was in Justin’s seat, but that’s to be expected. Justin admitted to only being acting chair of the department when they first met. But who are the people in the seats for the heads of Robotics, Advanced Systems and BioScience? And who’s in his seat?

He approached his chair, to the right of the room’s only entrance. To ask for his chair, but thought better of himself. He wouldn’t ask a woman to give up her seat to him. But when he resigned himself to another chair opposite her on the left side, he stopped in stunned silence.

“Nora,” he asked.

The woman turned from her relaxed posture and stared up at, “Nate?”

“It is clear to me that I have many things to explain--”

“You’re god damned right!” Nate turned on Shaun, fury and gall growing in his eyes.

“Please,” Shaun pleaded. “Please. Allow me to tell our story, father, mother. I know you must be shocked. The first details, you already know. We three were frozen in Vault 111 on October 23 2077 only moments after the first atomic bomb touched down in South Boston. From there, the details become erratic and I must ask you to bear with me while I tell them.

* * *

At the end of the short, pod-lined hallway, a pair of Institute scientists and a mercenary stand. The vault had been working more or less at peak efficiency for decades, but there were signs of nearly exhausted components all over the place. The Vault wouldn’t last another hundred years. Then again, most were meant to run about 20 years, then release their people onto an irradiated surface with stocks of Rad-X and RadAway to combat what, according to estimates, little hard radiation was left after so long. After all, there were shelters all around America and some of them let their people go within days, to live or die.

A male scientist said, “Vault computers are still working. Surprising, but that’s good for us. Checking through the logs. Hopefully we find what we’re looking for.”

“This is the one. Here,” one of the scientists said. The only human feature about the faceless, almost voiceless figure is the swell of her breasts. Otherwise, she’s just another unit of the Institute.

“You’ve got it,” the male scientist asked.

“What’s the holdup,” the mercenary asked when several seconds went by with no apparent progress. His face didn’t lend itself to kindness, and his insistence on a fast job was not making the scientist’s job any easier.

“I’m almost finished, Kellogg. I just need to confirm--”

An automated voice box spoke up when the command had been put in, “Cryonic sequence suspended. Pod opening.”

“All right,” the female scientist said. “We’re good.”

The trio walked to the other end of the hallway, to a pod containing a woman and a baby. Strange that Vault-Tec would put two living things in the same pod, but they weren’t known for maintaining any real workplace standards; be they in personnel or material. The morality of Vault-Tec was a discussion no one listened to before the war, but afterward and everyone left alive saw what the vaults really were, everyone had a bone to pick with them.

The pod needed only moments. Kellogg took up a position to the woman’s right, and the scientists moved in on her left.

“This is the one,” the female said.

“Open it.”

The last lever between them and the contents of the pod fell and the pod opened, releasing centuries of chill out into the hall.

The occupants began to breath again. The baby cried.

“Is… is it over,” the woman inside the pod asked. “Are we ok?”

“Everything is ok,” the female said, moving forward. “Everything is going to be fine. Come here. Come here, baby...”

She made a move, trying to wrest the baby from his mother’s arms. The mother wasn’t willing to let go that easily. The baby wailed.

“No,” the woman said. “I’m not giving you Shaun!”

Kellogg raised his firearm, a bull-barreled revolver with a nasty streak at the end and several hash-marks on the handle. “Let the boy go. I’m only going to tell you once.”

The woman held firm onto her child.

Kellogg fired his gun into her chest.

She let go, slumped back and fell silent.

“God damn it! Get the kid out of here and let’s go.” Kellogg wandered past the opposite pod as the freezing process started up again. “At least we’ve still got the spare.”

“Cryonic sequence reinitialized. Cryo-sleep in five… four… three… two… one…”

The baby wailed all the way back to the entrance of the Vault.

One of the scientists mumbled to the other, “He didn’t have to kill her.”

The other scientist responded, “Maybe we can revive her some day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… some of our ancestors helped Vault-Tec make all these pods, right? Braun wasn’t the only scientist with his fingers in the vault pie. I have to assume they built them well. My pride won’t allow thinking otherwise. It’s possible she’ll be alive, if barely, on ice until we can relay her out and get her to the infirmary.”

“That’s if the Director lets us.”

“It’s not right to leave her like that.”

“We have jobs to do. The gen-three project comes first. If we can, she comes later. It’s not like we have a deadline on that anyway.”

* * *

Shaun straightened in his seat, tugging at his coat and trying to compose himself almost below perception. “You see now why I kept this hidden from you,” he asked of his parents.

For their credit, they neither raised their voices nor glared on in frustration or anger. Nate simply took his wife’s hand in one of his while reaching for their son’s hand with his other.

“I have my family back. That’s enough, Shaun.” Then he thought better of the situation. “Dare I ask why the Directorate was called for this?”

“I’d like to know as well, Shaun,” Nora said. “And where are doctors Ayo, Li, and Holdren? I assumed that they would be called into this meeting along with us.”

“That is a part of what I have to tell you,” Shaun answered. “Do you both remember when we spoke atop the central structure at the old Institute surface ruins?”

Nate and Nora nodded, only glancing at one another in confusion that both had such a conversation in that place.

“Sir,” one of the Directorate membership spoke up, “would it not be simpler to correct the timeline?”

“Of course,” Shaun said. “Mother, father, the date is the seventeenth of May 2276. The time you spent in the Commonwealth was part of an elaborate simulation we have been running since we rescued you two four years ago from Vault 111.”

Nate almost choked over his words. “We… everything I went through… all my friends… it wasn’t real?”

“Why would you do that to us,” Nora asked.

“It is complicated. You should know it was the only viable solution we had at the time the procedure was being designed. Medical science has come very far since two hundred years ago, but we cannot cure death. You were both frozen under less than ideal circumstances following the events that lead me to being taken in by the Institute in 2227. Mother, you were put into stasis with a fatal gunshot wound sustained when you resisted Conrad Kellogg’s heavy-handed attempt to take me from you as a baby. Father, you were partly unfrozen for almost a full minute, which allowed ice crystals form in your blood and lungs. When you were put back in full stasis, you were dying from a lack of blood flow and air.

“Given what happened, I consider us extremely lucky that Doctor Filmore, Allie’s mother, had the idea of immediately sending you both back into cryo-preservation. Without her quick thinking, you would both likely have died half a century before I could have taken any action to prevent it.”

“And the program you were running,” Nora pushed.

“It was another part of the experiment. I was there with you as often as I could be, but otherwise let the program take its course. It was meant not only to test your cognitive functions after your time frozen, but also introduce you to the world as it exists today without the fear that either of your would fall victim to the depravity of so many above ground. But it went out of our direct control after the first year. We needed an advanced neural network capable of emulating human beings with reasonable accuracy, and our newest synths are incapable of emulating such traits outside their own confines; so we recalled a unit we’d allowed to live in the Commonwealth under an assumed identity some years ago.

“He called himself Nick Valentine.”

“Nick,” both Nate and Nora exclaimed.

“Yes. One of the two earliest generation three synths. His neural network was overwritten several times until a personality matrix was found that was compatible. The unit was confused, believing itself to be a man by the same name who’d been dead since before the Great War. His escape was unplanned, but once we found him again, in the 2250s, there was no reason not to stand back and observe - especially after the incidents that lead to the Broken Mask massacre and the collapse of the Commonwealth Provisional Government. The unit had been integrated as a part of the settlement at Fenway Park for several years by the time we found it again; Diamond City, a comical name. It was important to see how humans interacted with synths that were just human enough, but not so human that they could be mistaken for being one and the same.”

“But I knew Nick well. He and I were friends,” Nate said.

“And you still are,” Shaun said, “in a certain way. You see, we hooked up the unit’s neural network, its brain, to act as the central processor in a massive supercomputer bank to maintain the illusion of humanity within the simulation. We drew partly on pre-programming, and partly on the unit’s years of memories outside to populate the world. It is still able to be removed from the superstructure, should you desire its company. However, I must stress this: it is not a person. It is a machine that had a purpose. Now, that purpose has shifted. That is all.”  
Nora said, “I know, Shaun. The synths aren’t people, no matter how closely they resemble us. I know that can change, but even now they’re only machines.”

Shaun said, “That much is still very much ahead of us. Synths were never meant to replace humans, but simply be another step towards what humans could be: stronger, faster, more resilient and even able to improve their own luck by effort alone. They are meant to be something special.”

“But Nick,” Nate said. “He’s as much a person as anyone else I know. What makes him less human?”

“Father, the unit emulates a human being because its mind is a direct copy of a human being. I do not want to argue this point. I will simply say this: the unit is only as human as the mind it is emulating. It will never be human, but if it comforts you to think of it that way, there is no reason to stand in your way on this point. There is a minority in the Institute even today that treats the humanoid synths with formality and even assigns names. We allow this so long as no one forgets what the synths are. Animism was one of the founding principles of the synth program.”

“All right, Shaun. Maybe we can speak about this another time; but for now, I’m satisfied. Shaun… why did you program such a detailed experience if it was only meant to test us.”

“I didn’t,” Shaun answered. “Or perhaps I should say it was unintended. When we were perfecting the generation three synths, there was a time when we assumed human-level cognition was based on the biological equivalent of storage and processing speed. With that in mind, we imbued the original prototype threes with oversized, overpowered processors. Think of this as being a measure of how quickly a brain invents a new idea. The prototypes have vastly larger capacities for learning and thinking than the generalized units that came after them.”

“This is becoming tiresome, but I have to keep asking: why?”

“Frankly, we decided they were too smart. Our purpose is in redefining mankind, but not creating a new technology that outpaces our own abilities. In this, the imaginary Brotherhood of Steel the machine invented for you represents that ideal sent to radical extremes. They mirror the records we have about how that group began on the west coast of America. Each group, each faction, was designed to bring another aspect of the Institute to light in that way. But the machine out-designed us.

“Once the programming was complete, the unit was given freedom to run the simulation to within our parameters. We were somewhat short-sighted in its instructions. The exact phrasing was, ‘Use the existing program to create an interactive experience wherein the users can grow mentally and emotionally before being released.’ This lent itself to interpretation by the experimental unit and it used its own experiences in the Commonwealth as a supplement when our program was limited. You both might have felt as if your time inside was episodic or driven by events that can only be called acts of God. This is due to the unit effectively writing a narrative structure into the simulation that we didn’t anticipate. We are not sure of the exact events, but print-readouts gave us an idea.

“A faction-driven adventure wherein you, as the protagonist, searched for your missing son before being given the choice over what happens to the region. A game, if you will. And you both chose to support the Institute, albeit differently, and I can not express how proud I am to call you my parents.”

“You’re kidding,” Nate droned. “And you didn’t have any control over this?”

Shawn sat back in his chair, letting the tension in his arms reach down towards his hands. “From a certain point of view, yes, we had limited control over the simulation once it was set in motion. I, and others, could enter and exit at will and interact with you. Most of the interactions you and I shared inside were me puppeteering the Shaun of the simulation. Our concern was less about allowing that particular experiment run, and more in line with Doctor Volkert’s recommendations on your physical recovery. It was necessary to place you in a state of half-hibernation while our doctors repaired damage and replaced parts past the hayflick limit.”

Nora looked aside before saying, “What was replaced?”

“You both are biological grandparents to the generation three synth line, and the gen three synths are partly biological, so using that same technology we rebuilt what you lost. Mother, your heart and spine suffered damage your body could never have repaired, so we gave you new ones. Father, your blood was almost totally wasted and your heart suffered internal lacerations from ice scraping through it during palpitations. We replaced your blood supply and gave you a new heart as well. Any other changes are minor, but there are other augmentations that were made under my supervision.”

“Such as,” Nate asked.

“We left your brains untouched,” Shaun clarified, “but I did authorize procedures that strengthen your bones, increased muscle mass, improved your natural resistance to damage caused by ionizing radiation and even had your dexterity increased several times over. These are second generation human implants that we designed based on RobCo and General Atomics technology recovered from facilities in Carolina and Mississippi. They are safe and in use by several agents of the Institute--”

“So you want us to be agents,” Nate interrupted.

“In a word, yes. I did not come to this decision lightly. After the execution of Conrad Kellogg--”

“He’s dead?”

Shaun looked pained. “Yes. I ordered it myself after he botched an operation to recover several scientists in Washington DC. I wanted to expand on their research into mass-scale water purification almost twenty years ago, but they had given up before Kellogg arrived. His method of persuading them to continue was less than ideal and resulted in several deaths. The Brotherhood of Steel became involved and I sought a way to avoid open conflict with their absurd cult.”

“But you were just looking for a convenient excuse, weren’t you,” Nate accused.

The members of the Directorate looked shocked, but Shaun hushed them. “I won’t deny that. The man was useful, but I’d been looking for a way to end his existence for almost thirty years at that point. He might have been a useful tool of the previous Director, but his thumb-fingered diplomacy had cost the Institute too much for too little return in recent years. Now, we have better, more empathetic and smarter, agents to take his place. That is, if you accept the position.”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Nora said. “It’s… something we should discuss, Nate. As a family.” Nora looked at Shaun and back at Nate.

“Of course, mother. Part of the reason the Directorate has been called was to allow you and father to become acquainted with the heads of each department. I do not have specifics about your time in the simulators, but I assume you understand the basic structure of the Institute.”

Doctor Zimmer spoke up first. “Director, I believe introductions and socialization can come later. Now, we have pressing matters to discuss. Our business in Columbia is only beginning and I hope to avoid another trip to that godforsaken wasteland. One of our Coursers has gone rogue.”  
The Directorate erupted.

“How did this happen?”

“The Courser training program is leak-proof. These sort of things do not occur.”

“Who dropped the ball on this?”

Shaun interjected with, “Stop! Allow Doctor Zimmer to continue. This is now our most pressing immediate issue. The subjects of weekly reports, the case of my parents and other unspoken business will cease while we hear from the head of the SRB.”

The room fell into silence.

“Thank you, Director,” Zimmer said. “Approximately seven hours ago, the Synth Retention Bureau dispatched Courser A3-21 to track and capture an escaped generation three synth. During the operation, SRB received a damning transmission voiced by the rogue Courser and it fell from our observation network. As of now, we do not know the unit’s location. It was last seen in Boston proper just south of the Mass Fusion tower complex.”

“What’s the plan for bringing him back in,” Nora asked.

Zimmer paused, glancing at the Director before answering her directly. “If you and Nathaniel choose to join us as agents, we will search for this Courser and bring it back to the SRB for debriefing and reevaluation. It will be wiped and returned to normal duties outside the SRB.”

Shaun said, “Doctor, prepare a team of synths for a general search of the city. It is possible this rogue Courser has already gone to ground, but additional assets in the field can only help now. The meeting is dismissed. Please file your reports per usual and bring only priority two of higher matters to my attention until the immediate crisis is over. Mother and father, please follow me. We have other matters to discuss related to this.”  
In the Director’s quarters, which double as something approximating a home office, Shaun, Nate and Nora gathered privately.

“Shaun, I think I understand what you want us to do,” Nate said. “It’s like in that thing you had us in; you want us to be the Institute’s boots on the ground. You can’t expect old Zimmer or any of the career scientists to go up there. I was a soldier until we got to that vault. I would have probably been redeployed if the world hadn’t… you know.”

“I agree,” Nora said. “I wasn’t a soldier, but I held my own and muscle memory has to count for something if those months - sorry, years - in that machine was worth anything. Shaun, I know how hard it has been without us. You might have been cared for, but we’re your parents. I know how hard you’ve been working for so long. Let your dad and I take a little of the burden from your shoulders.”

“Mother, father,” Shaun said. “I thought… I spent many nights awake wondering how I’d convince you of our goals. I spent as many wondering if you’d be what I’d always imagined as a child. Now… you have brought joy to me and it hardly seems real. Thank you. Now… there is one thing: I have to maintain a distance. I am both your child, and your superior in this place. I ask that we maintain that division while you are acting as agents.”

“Yes, Shaun.”

“Perfect. To business. Stock up on arms and armor in SRB and report to Doctor Zimmer for instructions. I hope this is resolved quickly. Malfunctioning synths are not uncommon, but Coursers malfunctioning in the same way is entirely unheard of. I will see you soon. Dismissed.”

SRB held the usual fare of Courser uniforms and Institute manufactured energy weapons, but the pair would want something a little different for this mission.

Nate pulled the first scientist he found aside, “Hey, doc. Do you have any firearms we can use?”

“The standard issue laser weapons--”

“Something with a little more kick, doc. Something that shoots bullets. Most of the threats up there will be in metal or leather; guns are better at punching through than lasers are.”

The scientist thought for a moment. His hand came up to his chin in a perfect picture of prideful pre-war intellectualism. “I’ll have a Courser escort you. We have a stock of captured weapons and armor from the Commonwealth, any of which might meet your needs. You’ll need authorization from Doctor Zimmer to take anything out…”

“Then I’ll just have to see him. Where is he?”

“Preparing for the operation. We’ve gotten back some preliminary scouting reports that suggest the synth has gone to the Bunker Hill settlement. He’s in his office.”

Doctor Zimmer was reading furiously at his desk terminal. One small, old man has never before radiated such anger without falling victim to heart failure. “Braun’s Balls! Damn this synth!”

Nate stood outside the door, leaning in. “Doctor?”

Zimmer looked up. “Yes. Come in, sit down. What do you need Nathaniel?”

Nate suppressed a grimace at the use of his proper name. “We were told we’d need special permission from you to access the weapons vault. Nora and I were looking for something that packs a little more punch than the Courser laser rifles.”

“Yes, go ahead. Tell E5-15 and M4-92 to show you around. They are the custodians of foreign items held by SRB. The passcode is ‘Once more unto the breach.’”

“Thanks doc,” Nate said.

Nora asked, “When can we expect to leave?”

“As soon as you are ready. Bunker Hill is our first stop. One of our informants has provided intelligence that a hooded man the height of the synth was seen there speaking about where he could find a doctor skilled in cosmetic procedures. I will be in relay room two in twenty minutes. Be there.”

“Sure,” Nora said before leaving. She found that Nate had gone on ahead, so she opted for another route.

In the front hall of the SRB, several Coursers milled about along side SRB personal. She found what she was looking for in a locker adjacent to the security checkpoint.

“Perfect.”

One of the female staff approached her. Nora was sure she knew the woman’s name, but puzzled at trying to remember. For all she knew, it could be a memory of a memory of someone else entirely. She missed the days where the office staff at the law firm all wore name tags.

“Ma’am, are you finding everything all right,” the woman asked.

Nora said, “Yeah. Nate’s more comfortable with guns, it seems. But I’d rather go with something a little more familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“Sure. I thought everyone was aware of our situation. Is that not the case?”

The younger woman looked sheepish. “I’m only a low-level assistant in SRB. No one tells me anything around here. I guess they don’t take kindly to anyone jumping in from Robotics. Guess it’s to be expected. After all Robotics causes all the worst problems the Bureau has to deal with.” She put her hands to her mouth and spoke over them. “I’m sorry, I must be boring you. Do you need any help?”

Nora laughed. “That’s okay dear. I remember when I was starting out in law school; the men didn’t tell me anything either. It seems the gender gap has closed a bit since the war, or I hope it has. You’ll get it. It just takes time and experience and you’ll be part of the team like they are.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Father doesn’t… doesn’t speak about such things often, but he really opened up back when Advanced Systems was announcing you and Mr. Nate would be recovered. He’s… he means a lot to us,” she hesitated, “and so do you. It’s--”

“What’s your name,” Nora asked.

“Me? I’m Kara Lovis,” she answered.

“Pleasure to meet you, Kara. You can just call me Nora.”

“That-- yes, Miss Nora! I mean… Nora.”

“You seem really young for this. You can’t be more than fifteen, am I right?”

Kara looked pleased. “Exactly right, Nora!”

Nora just laughed. “God, it’s like looking in a mirror of myself at that age. I don’t mean to laugh, but you’re just adorable. Is there somewhere I can get dressed?”

Kara looked confused. “You want to wear that on the surface,” she asked, referring to the uniform Nora had taken up.

“Yes. It provides decent protection from the firearms most raiders should have, and it breathes pretty well. All I’ll have to worry about is if someone start lobbing grenades at me, but it’ll get me past firebombs and pipe rifles as well as any military grade stuff without too many bumps and bruises.”

“I wasn’t… what I mean is… you’re willing to wear what the Coursers wear?”

“Why not,” Nora asked rhetorically. “You know the simulation Shaun - the Director - had Nate and I tucked away in all this time? This is what I wore on missions in that. If it’s anything like what the computer made me think it was like, then it’s more than adequate for what I intend to use it for. It’s more or less bulletproof, right?”

“Yes. It’s also stab resistant and can protect you from gamma, beta and alpha radiation almost as well as a full suit of power armor. It won’t replace the safety of the Institute, but I’ve never seen a Courser suffering from fatal wounds sustained while wearing their uniform. I don’t know if I’d bet my life on it… the Coursers are trained endlessly before they’re allowed into the field.”

“I think I can handle it,” Nora said. “Besides, I want to be useful around here. Just sitting around like the great-great grandmother I should be at my age doesn’t suit me. That’s what Shaun wanted to offer us at first; retirement. A comfortable life. But… if nothing else, I don’t think either of us want that knowing how the surface is. If we can make it better…”

“I think I understand, ma’am.”

“Just Nora, please. Now, do the Coursers have a pick of laser weapons or are they all the same?”

“I think we’ve got just the thing.”

“Once more unto the breach,” Nate said when he arrived at the weapons depot.

The synth guards opened the doors, allowing for full access. Neither spoke, but Nate figured they’d say something if he touched something he shouldn’t. So many things to pick from, so little time to test the grips, so to speak.

“Eenie,” Nate said, grabbing some clothing, trading out his outfit from earlier, and slipping it over his thin, standard-issue coverall. The classic denim jeans and work shirt felt like home compared to the painfully thin undergarment quality of the basic coverall under his dress uniform.

“Meenie,” he said on filling in his clothing with armor of a mixed variety. Leather was lightweight, but also provided protection from most of what nature could throw at him. The chest piece was interesting though. It would inject him with a stimulant hidden under his left breast plate if he was injured, as indicated by a heart monitor attached to the inside. He just hoped it would be unnecessary.

“Miney,” he said as he fingered the guns laid out on the tables and shelves. A trusty ten millimeter pistol as his sidearm, along with half a dozen additional magazines of rounds. He spend longer finding the right rifle until he spied one he’d know in the dark with fingers missing: Smith and Wesson make, model 40. The insignia is lost to erosion and time, but he knows this weapon. It’s the same one, or at least the same model, that saw him through his time on the line in Anchorage. Chambered for 7.62 NATO ammunition, this semi-automatic full-sensing powerhouse would serve him well. It was the perfect middle-ground between a sniper rifle and a short-barrel submachine gun. It wouldn’t do either job perfectly, but it would do both jobs well enough for a generalist in the field.

“Mo,” Nate finished on selecting a hat and a pair of glasses. The vaguely military beret coupled with the slightly amber tinted eyeglasses finished his ensemble without sacrificing his safety; or that’s what he told himself. This outfit was more put together for milk runs where getting shot at was supposed to be at a minimum. If he’d really thought he needed major protection, he’d just ask for the nearest suit of power armor and not bat an eye when they told him it was ill-used and in disrepair.

He didn’t see Nora when he left SRB, but figured she’d already be off to wherever they were all meeting. Now…

“Sir,” a voice came from behind him.

Nate spun to find Kara. “Oh, you were talking with Nora earlier, right?”

“Erm… yes, sir. Miss Nora and the Courser escort have all gone to relay room two. Do you know where that is?”

“No, I don’t. Can you tell me how to get there?”

“Just take the main elevator to the primary relay room and they should be able to direct you from there.”

“Thanks. See you around,” Nate said.

Kara hesitated, but said, “Yeah. Another time.”

In relay room two, Nora, Doctor Zimmer and two Coursers were already waiting for Nate to arrive.

“It is about time you joined us, Nathaniel,” Zimmer said.

Nate responded good-heartedly. “Thanks for waiting up for me. I needed the right gun and ammo is hard to come by down here. Can I keep this,” Nate joked, holding up his rifle.

“That’s what you’re wearing,” Nora chided on seeing Nate’s excuse for combat armor.

“I could say the same thing,” Nate offered, joking only once that she matched the Coursers in both appearance and manner.

“If you both are ready, we have a job to complete. Field operations are fine, but all must abide procedure,” Zimmer said. The man clearly liked field work, but his temperament was that of a man who was used to having people listen to his orders and carry them out faithfully. Maybe he spent too long around synths and not enough time with people.

“We’re set.”

* * *

 

Boston was much as both Nate and Nora remembered. Sort of. It was nothing like the city they lived just outside of before the Great War of 2077, but it was very similar to the simulated reality they’d been subject to for what felt like almost a year. At least Bunker Hill looked the same, though they doubted the people would be the same.

Breed’s Hill had, since nearly five centuries earlier, been surrounded by buildings, both shops and homes, and, since two centuries ago, in more wreckage of those buildings than one could shake a stick at. The actual Bunker Hill wasn’t much better, but having been passed over for the site of the monument and simply left as the actual target of interest of the Battle of Bunker Hill, not many thought too deeply on the subject. All in all, the topography was uninteresting.

“I wonder how the Washington Monument fared the apocalypse,” Nate quipped, remembering the last time he’d been in DC, having been invited as part of a military parade on Independence Day in 2073, about halfway through his deployment. He hadn’t been there for the tricentennial, but watched the newscast of the parades and fireworks on television with wife that weekend. He idly wondered what the upcoming quincentennial would look like and where he would be.

The party took in the sight of the Bunker Hill monument in not too quiet sorrow over the state of the nation today.

Nora said, “Probably looks about the same. These things were built to last, but not for so long without help. Remember that case I did the leg work for back in ‘74?”

“I remember. Half the letters you sent while I was deployed mentioned it.”

“Well most of the research was into old monuments in Boston and who would pick up the slack to maintain them when the Commonwealth officials cut all funding to the arts and museums in favor of funding wartime research. I’m no historical conservationist, but I know a thing or two about this city’s importance to American history.”

Zimmer cut in with, “Perhaps you can record your findings for Institute records some time, Madame. But for now, we are here and must commence search protocols. Coursers, pattern gamma-six. Spread out and search. Agents, with me.”

Past the front gates, at which the group was oddly not stopped nor inspected, was the monument itself and the market beyond. Inside, Zimmer walked straight to a young man in a flak jacket and leather armored pants. “Mister Miller, what information do you have?”

The man, Lucas Miller, looked up from his knitting and scowled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of SRB’s top man humbling my tiny shop?”

Zimmer had no time for pleasantries. “I do not travel the irradiated swamp of Boston, Massachusetts with the intention of engaging in small-talk, Mister Miller. What I am interested in are results. I am here for information for which you will be paid handsomely. Speak, man.”

Miller leaned back in his chair. “Fine. I heard this shifty guy in the market a few days ago talking with the old guy at the shop over there,” he pointed to his right. “Guy wanted to find a doctor who could change his looks. Figured that was another of your man-robots run loose. The less of those damn things out here, the better.”

“Certainly right, Mister Miller. The money I promised will be in the usual location tonight. A pleasure doing business,” Zimmer said. “Come along, agents. We have what we came here for.”

“What that it,” Nate insisted.

“Yes,” Zimmer concluded. “If A3-21 is as far ahead of us as I believe it is, then we have lost it for the time being. We will need to consult with enemy agents to get what we need. Are the pair of you equipped for a raid?”

Nora said, “As ready as we can be. Where to, doctor?”

Zimmer nodded. “There is a known Railroad stronghold to the north--”

“Woah,” Nate said. “They’re real? I thought that was part of the program too.”

“Most general aspects of the simulated world you experienced are based on reality. Did you think it was coincidence that you recognize the structure of the Institute but not its members?”

“That’s… a fair point, doc.”

“The Railroad is dangerous, but few in number. We estimate fewer than fifty members if you disregard the stolen synths they have allowed to swell their numbers into an estimated eighty. This safehouse is one we’ve allowed to remain free until now because it is better to know the location of the enemy rather than allowing them to go into hiding. I cannot afford to allow a Courser to roam free this way, so I am authorizing a raid in accordance with Institute and SRB directive omega-seven-one. We march on Malden. A recreation center in the city center is our target.”

The Malden YMCA had all the trappings of pre-war America built in: patriotism and just the right smearing of religious iconography and a slew of Gideon bibles to boot. Nate had once held those ideals in high regard, but had let himself slip away over the last several years with the war and his experiences since 2077. Nora picked up one of the bibles and scoffed as the ancient paperback book disintegrated in her hands.

“Just how I always thought it would end,” she quipped.

“You know,” Nate said, “I thought you liked my tenor in the Christmas choir.”

“Your voice, yes. The church… not so much.” Nora looked around. “They were always too exclusionary for me.”

“I know. My wife, the lawyer and far too good for a lifetime of modesty and faith. Especially around here,” Nate added almost as an afterthought.

“Agents,” Zimmer said, “while this conversation has meaning that I believe would benefit the Institute archive library, right now, please keep a weather eye for--”

A door towards the back of the main hall exploded outward and shells flew from the open hole in the wall.

“Coil guns,” Nora called out. “Take cover!”

Several men and women in thick overcoats piled out of the door carrying massive coil guns - Gauss Rifles. And each packed one hell of a punch firing two millimeter metal disks at speeds approaching mach two. The more capacitors in a coil gun, the more energy can be dumped into each electromagnetically propelled shot. The cartridges were blowing large craters into the concrete walls around the Institute team, so one has to assume they’re using a massive bank of capacitors in each firearm.

Nora took command once combat began. Administration is where she shined and proving it took only seconds.

“Zimmer, lay down behind me. Nate, fire a volley into the ceiling. We need a smoke screen. Coursers, flank from twenty and eighty degrees from this position. Go!”

Doctor Zimmer fell prone behind Nora while reaching for his pistol, carried really only as a last line of defense. The man’s a marksman to rival any professional, but he’s more of a scientist despite his proclivity for field work. Nate fired his ten millimeter pistol into the ceiling, letting loose a hundred years of dust, debris and water damaged ceiling tiles and insulation into an opaque cloud.

The synths did as told, waiting until they were under cover of a white mist to make their way to opposing positions in the room.

Nora shouted, “Fire!”

She, Nate, and the pair of Coursers all fired from their points in the room toward the Railroad aggressors in the center.

After several moments, “Cease fire! Find cover!”

Everyone fell back behind heavy supports or into blind spots where the Railroad wouldn’t be able to shoot except blind.

When the dust settled, they could see. In the center of the room, seven bodies lay pockmarked with bullets and laser burns. There was only one survivor, shot in the leg twice and trying to staunch his wounds. Nora took a flying leap over the counter she was commanding from behind and beelined for the survivor.

“You,” she shouted. “I want answers.”

The man pulled up into himself, but couldn’t make it farther than a few inches with his wounds. “Screw you, Institute,” he spat.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Nora said. She tightened her gaze on the wounded man. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”

“I’m not telling you bastards anything. Just kill me and get it over with.”

“That wouldn’t work at all,” Nora said. “Where are you hiding the synths?”

“Up yours,” the man said.

“That’s one,” Nora said. “Where are you hiding our synths?”

“Sixth circle of Hell, bitch. Enjoy it.”

“That’s two. I prefer seventh circle. Where are the synths?”

“What are you, a fucking broken holotape? Got your wires crossed, bitch?”

Nora sighed. “I tried to warn you. That’s three.”

Then, without further warning, Nora picked up a boot-clad foot and smashed it into the man’s wounded leg, right atop the bullet holes.

The man screamed in pain, “You fucking bitch! What the fuck’s wrong with you!”

“I won’t ask again. Tell me what I want to know or you keep feeling pain until there’s nothing left.”

In the end, he gave up his friends and Nora ordered one of the Coursers to execute him.

Outside, the party found their trail at its end in all too short a time. Zimmer was already calling back into the Institute for pick up and the Coursers carried a stack of captured coil guns, armor and other goods. Stims, chems, caps and a dozen other items picked off each Railroad member. Waste not, want not.

“Nora,” Nate said after a while.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said. “I don’t like doing that, but out here people don’t respond to anything else. Maybe in the cities people will talk for money or bribes, but here… I picked up some nasty habits while we were under,” she joked.

“I… I can’t say I’ve done much better. It was hard, but I think we both know well enough how to make it out here. I’ve got you and Shaun back, and that’s enough.

Zimmer ignored the display of affection that followed and simply radioed back, “Five with equipment to relay back.” Then he complained to his human companions, “Looks like we have to go to Columbia after all.”

The world erupted into white.


End file.
